


This Armoured Road

by Lady_Dunseverick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:22:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Dunseverick/pseuds/Lady_Dunseverick
Summary: Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark leave King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. With no clear direction in mind, all that matters is that they escape the city and the clutches of the Lannisters.





	1. Chapter 1

She could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing as he stared down at her. Waiting for her answer. “I'll be safe here” she finally said. “If Stannis takes the city, he won't harm me. I'm a hostage, and a Stark of Winterfell. I'm his key to taking the North”. The Hound stared at her before shaking his head. “Winterfell lies in ruins, girl. Stannis does not need Winterfell in order to claim the North. Nor does he need you. You're one of the last of the Starks. You're one of those standing between him and the North. As long as you live, a Stark can still claim the North. Stannis is a killer. And he will stop at nothing to claim the throne. I could protect you. Keep you safe. Take you North.”  
Sansa gazed up at the Hound’s scarred face. Somehow it no longer filled her with repulsive fascination. Go North. Leave King’s Landing. Leave the Red Keep, and the Baratheons, Lannisters and the castle politics. To no longer run the gauntlet of Cersei’s bitter tongue or to be abused at Joffrey’s whim. To no longer have to look at the king's silly, cruel face. It was tempting. Very tempting.  
“But where could I go?” she asked him. “If Winterfell is fallen then I have no home. Where would be safe?” The Hound turned to look out of Sansa’s chamber window. Green fire blazed in the distance and cast an unearthly strange light across the night sky. The ships in the bay rocked and crashed as the wildfire consumed them. The screams of dying men could be faintly heard, drifting on the wind. Not for the first time, the Hound flinched and tore his gaze away. I am become craven, he thought to himself. Turning back to Sansa, he said “ I could take you to Riverrun. Or to the Eyrie. Your aunt is there, she will shelter you. You must decide. I will not be in the city beyond sunrise. You must decide if you go or stay. If you stay, I will no longer be here to stand between you and the king”.  
Sansa cast her mind back to the day of her humiliation in the throne room. Tyrion had saved her from a worse beating then, and the Hound had covered her modesty with his cloak. Tyrion was a friend of sorts, she thought. But he was still a Lannister. And her father, they had killed her father and raised his head on a pike. Sudden fury rushed through her. Fury at the queen, at Joffrey, at herself for being so weak and humble, for accepting that she must be ruled by the will of the Lannisters. The Hound was leaving and so would she. “Yes” she said. “I will go with you”. She looked into the ruined face of the huge man who stood before her. Battlestained and bloody, he was a killer too. “You won't hurt me.”  
Sandor Clegane looked back at Sansa Stark. “No, little bird,” he growled. “I won't hurt you”.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa would always remember the night of her flight from King’s Landing with the Hound. After agreeing to leave with him, things moved fast. She barely had time to gather what few jewels she had and seize her travelling cloak. Sandor would not delay any longer and they were soon hurrying through the castle towards the stables. Confusion reigned when they reached them, as the stabled horses smelled the smoke from the burning ships and were kicking and snorting while stableboys hurried around trying to calm them. Sandor took advantage of the mayhem to saddle his own mount, his enormous warhorse, Stranger, and lead him out to the stable yard. Even that experienced horse was fractious, and flattened his ears at a passing lad and before attempting to bite him. Sandor quickly swung Sansa up into the saddle before mounting behind her. “We'll have to ride double as we leave the city”, he said. “ Can't risk getting separated”. Sansa said nothing, remembering the last time she'd been alone in the city. She had been within a hair’s breadth of being raped by half a hundred men like poor Lollys Stokeworth had been, except Lollys hadn't had the Hound to save her. Sansa wasn't a confident rider as it was, so riding with the Hound was preferable to managing a horse, particularly one that was like to be maddened by the wildfire blazing across the sky.  
Leaving through the castle gate was easy, recognising the Hound in his Kingsguard cloak, the guards on the gate allowed them to pass without challenging them. As they headed through the city towards the Gate of the Gods, the shrieks of the citizens rained around them, and panicking people ran amok in the streets. Peering from under the hood of her cloak, Sansa saw a wine merchant attempting to defend his stores from some men who were armed with clubs and knives. As they passed, she saw the wine merchant’s head split open by a screaming man wielding an axe, and his lifeless body dropping to the ground. Shuddering, she turned her face into the Hound’s breastplate and closed her eyes. If she kept them closed, then she could pretend it wasn't happening. But she could not prevent the noise of the mob from assaulting her ears. She thought she would remember the sound forever.  
On reaching the city gate, they were able to pass through without argument. Others had had the same idea before them and were fleeing King's Landing in the event it was sacked by Stannis’ army. A train of refugees wound their way along the road. Only Sansa and Sandor were ahorse, and curious eyes gazed at them as Stranger plodded by.  
Sandor looked down at Sansa as she sat sideways on the pommel of the saddle. The hood of her cloak covered her fiery hair, and her face was turned to his chest. She might have been sleeping if her knuckles hadn't been white with the grip she had maintained on the armour that cladded his upper arm.  
Sandor cleared his throat. “Girl”, he rasped.  
After a moment, Sansa raised her head. Sandor continued, “ We are now on the road North. We can make Riverrun some days from now but the Eyrie might be safer”. Safer for me as well, Sandor thought with an inner scowl, not to meet Robb Stark and his army when he was in company with his captive sister, whether he was delivering her back to her family or no. The Young Wolf might be relieved to have his sister back but that did not mean he was like to forget that the Hound was or had been in the service of the Lannisters. Best to avoid that little complication and continue on to the Eyrie to deliver Sansa to the care and protection of her aunt.  
Sansa swayed in the saddle slightly. She was uncomfortable, and her riding position atop the pommel was alien to a northern girl used to riding astride deep in the saddle itself. Her back ached from keeping it upright, to relax backwards would have meant settling into the Hound's arm. She was tired, so tired. “The Eyrie then”, she murmured. “Aunt Lysa will shelter me”.  
Sandor heard, rather than felt, Sansa sigh deeply. She's exhausted, he thought. He felt the same himself. Stranger ambled on, his gait adding to the weariness that now crept upon them. “The Eyrie it is then”, Sandor said. “ We will go to the Lord of the Vale”.


	3. Chapter 3

Petyr Baelish had not been lax in making his plans. Now he had been named the Lord of Harrenhal, he was in prime position to make his move on the Eyrie. He had no real wish to rule Harrenhal, yet the title was crucial to achieving his next aim. Thwarted once before in claiming a daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun due to his lower birth, the man known as Littlefinger was about to take no chances now. All the pieces were now set in place and ready to be played. As he approached the Vale at the head of his armed guard, Baelish anticipated his reception. The recently widowed Lysa Arryn was now perched safely in her lofty nest along with her boy child, little Robin. The Eyrie was all but impregnable, its very position a warning against an assault, few armies would contemplate a siege of that rocky fortress. The only sure way to gain entry was by the permission of its lord. Permission that Littlefinger had, by virtue of the Lord of the Vale’s lady mother. Lysa Arryn was expecting the new Lord of Harrenhal as an honoured guest, a suitor, and her future husband. The path had been set, and Littlefinger was master of all. Baelish called a halt to his armed column. They had arrived at the gateway to the Vale. The Eyrie soared high above them, scraping its crags against the sky. The game is begun, thought Littlefinger. Onwards to victory.


	4. Chapter 4

Sandor and Sansa were resting at the side of the road when they heard the approach of armoured men and horses. Looking out from between the trees they could see a column in the distance, kicking up clouds of dust as they progressed.  Too far away to distinguish the banners they were flying, Sandor decided they should retreat further into the woods.

“Pick your shit up, we need to move”, he growled at Sansa. Startled, she glared at him before scrambling to her feet.

“Pleasant as always”, she said sharply. Sandor looked surprised.  In the preceding days he had been dealing with a quiet, biddable girl, shocked by events that had overtaken her.  He had been able to instruct her to do his bidding as they slowly travelled in the direction of the Eyrie, the soldier in him able to make camp, set snares and find water sources along the way.  The nights had been uncomfortable outside on hard ground but as a means to an end there was no other way to travel.  Inns were out of the question, there were too many people quick to notice unusual travellers and accept coin to pass on information.  Even so, Sansa had not complained, she had rarely spoken, and even then usually only to ask how far he thought they had yet to travel.  This was a different Sansa who responded to him, and for a moment his tongue was stuck inside his head.

“Well, you need to hurry” he said. His voice sounded strange to him and he cleared his throat angrily.

“You don’t have to be so rude about it”, she answered back. “We’ve been on the road for days now and haven’t seen anybody.  That group could be anybody, we can’t see the House colours. They could even have allegiance to House Arryn.  Surely we must be getting near to the Vale?”

Sandor was unsure how to respond to this. It was the longest speech she had made since they had left King’s Landing.  Truth be told, they were only a half days ride from the Eyrie in his estimation but he had become increasingly concerned about what to do once they got there.  He had fully intended to pass Sansa over into the care of her aunt Lysa, but the nearer they got the more he wasn’t sure if this was the best course of action.  Lysa was mad as a box of frogs, everyone knew that, her adulation of her son had been an embarrassment to John Arryn as the Hand of the King.  But where else could he take her?  These thoughts had plagued him the nearer they got to the Vale.  Now here was a company of armed men heading in the same direction they were, and all of a sudden Sansa had sprouted a tongue, and a cutting one at that.  His head began to ache and he wished desperately for some wine.  Making his mind up in a hurry, he decided they had no other option but to continue their course.

“We’re going to make for the Eyrie now”, he said. “We’re not too far and I think we can be there later today.  But we’ll have to hurry.  I want to keep ahead of those men, I don’t know who they are.  Could be trouble”.  He was rewarded then by a slight smile from Sansa, a gleam of hope that the journey might finally be at an end.  For some reason this made him angrier and he snarled at her, “So anxious to be rid of my company are you?  Well you’ll have your wish soon enough”.  He seized her around the waist and lifted her onto the horse, climbing up behind her.  They moved at a slow walk through the trees until a track opened up before them and they picked up speed slightly.  Just as they settled into a brisk walk, Sansa placed her hand on his where he held the reins.  “I’m not anxious to be rid of you, my Lord.  I’m grateful for your help.  But it will be lovely to have a hot bath and clean bed”.  Furious at himself for basing his quick decision on Sansa’s suddenly changed attitude and angry with her for lapsing back into her customary civilities, he snapped back “Fuck your courtesies.  I’ll be well rid of you when your aunt takes charge of you”.  Sansa didn’t say anything to this but her back straightened and she bent her head to smooth her skirts.  Sandor was about to say something else, and what in the Gods’ name he would have said then, he didn’t know, but then a drop of water splashed onto his mailed fist accompanied by a slight muffled sob.  She was crying, he thought miserably, and he was the one who had made her cry. His throat closed up then, and he felt worse than ever.  They plodded on, each with their own thoughts until Sandor could stand it no longer and urged the horse into a canter.  “Fuck this”, he thought, “Fuck, fuck, fuck”.


End file.
